Peace Found
by Sandman Dreamer
Summary: When Daisy Fintook is whisked somewhat reluctantly from her isolated home in the Shire, it is to fulfil a promise made to her mother by Gandalf: she will go to see the elves. Along the way however, she discovers things she has never truly known - friendship, love and most importantly, herself. Thorin/OC


Hey!

I've been considering writing a LOTR or The Hobbit fanfiction for quite a long time but I wanted to be able to do Tolkien even a little bit of justice.

So here's the first part of my first fanfiction, which I've tried to write in the style of the author but also in my own style: the result, I think means it drags a little more than fanfictions usually do. I apologise for that but hope you can forgive me enough to stick with it - **I'll try and up date within the next few days**. This was originally a monster of a first chapter but I cut it in half to stop it from being excessively long.

**This also means there will be far more action, excitement and humour in the coming chapters. Daisy will also become a more vivid character.**

Also I only have Word Pad on my laptop so excuse any blunders - tried to fix as much as I could with the help of the internets but got frustrated with confusing American/British thingys so I may have given up.

**Obviously I own nothing apart from those you don't recognise: Daisy and Mal** (who I love and might have to sneak into this story more than I originally planned to.)

**Please give me a chance and some feedback.**

* * *

**Peace Found**

**Prologue - Introductions and Invitations**

* * *

Daisy Hornfellow had not ever been on an adventure. As a child she had never snuck away with the other young hobbits to splash about in the river nor had she disappeared from a party to capture fireflies in the dark. Even as she got older their were no secret romantic liasons with dashing young hobbits and no sneaking drinks from the taps at gatherings. In adulthood though, she often took long walks in the unkempt countryside that surrounded The Shire - yet even when it felt as though the wind might carry her away into the distance or when elvish song could almost be heard from the edge of the forests, her feet could always be relied upon to carry her back home. No, never had Daisy Hornfellow been on an adventure and as she turned forty nine, it did not even cross her mind that she ever would.

Being a hobbit of the poorer sort, Daisy lived in a poorer sort of Hobbit hole. Her's was one with a single somewhat round window and narrow damp halls. If she were to spread her arms as she entered, her hands would brush the muddy walls of her hallway which was also short and so shallow that even a Hobbit might find he had to duck to pass through the front door. Luckily, (or perhaps not) Daisy could be, and often was, described as particularly short even for a Hobbit.

The hole sat in the east of The Shire where it was least populated and seemed to rain far more. It was a wonder, folk sometimes commented, that her little hole had not yet collapsed in on her what with it's thin oak beams and water logged foundations - it was, after all, not uncommon for the less financially fortunate hobbits to tragically awaken to a face full of dirt and disintegrated ceiling beams.

Yet, Daisy had quietly reached her forty ninth birthday with her ceiling still firmly above her head and her Hobbit hole intact. On this day she had emerged from beneath her covers so late that the sun was at its highest in the sky (an exceptionally late start for a Hobbit) and wandered lazily still in her cotton night clothes towards the front door. Through her letter box had come two small envelopes: the first was addressed "_Dearest Miss Daisy Hornfellow of the Eastern Shire_" and was from a very distant and well-off aunt whom could always be relied upon for fine handcrafted cards on Birthdays and during festivities as well as promises for house visits that mostly went unfulfilled.

The second was of a more curious nature. Obviously worse for wear, it was signed only with a single letter '_G_' and a rune. Though she had little clue what this meant and the paper was browning and rough around the edges, she found it's design unfamiliar and pleasing: fine crisp lines spiraled across the front of the card as well as neatly on the back and the ink, which she had first thought black, shone silver in the light of the morning. She balanced both cards on the small table in the kitchen where the light was the brightest and considered them lightly as she munched on honeyed toast. Generally forty ninth birthday's did not warrant much celebration amongst Hobbits and on top of this Daisy did not have a surplus of friends. Two cards, therefore, would just about do.

This was down to what might have been a slightly odd temperament: a tendency to take long walks alone just beyond The Shire's perimeters, to leave parties early or occasionally not turn up at all. On one occasion she had been followed home from market by three black cats and though she suspected it had been the half loaf of sweet bread she carried in her pocket that lured them, Hobbits were often a superstitious folk.

She supposed that her newly acquired companionship with Mal Fintook, who brewed healing ointment and muttered rudely under her breath always, might have worsened matters. Mal was an exceptionally old Hobbit who had been permanently labelled 'strange', a term that was damning to the social life of any hobbit not rich enough to make up for their oddities. Mal fortunately, was rather good with her brewing and so was partially forgiven for her disagreeable tendencies: grunting and referring to everybody (including Daisy) as 'girl' or 'boy' or sometimes '_you_'.

Daisy had found rather proudly that she had both an affinity for brewing the basics and for gaining Mal's tolerance which was in itself no small feat. She would also on occasion run Mal's small ill kept stall in the marketplace, probably due her more friendly countenance. Daisy spent the remaining daylight of her birthday by Mal's side in the dank musky backroom of her house (Mal was not yet as poor as her younger companion.*) Hours passed by without Mal even saying a word and it was only when the younger hobbit was half way out of the door that Mal turned to her and shoved a dense pumpkin pie into her arms with a grunt and a nod before disappearing off again.

In spite of herself, Daisy had been touched by Mal's gift and trotted back to her home with half a smile and taking the occasional whiff of her birthday treat. The pie had somehow made the day less of the disappointment Daisy had come to expect. By the time her uneven front steps came into view Daisy was feeling really quite jolly and not tired at all. It had not rained all day and now the sky was clear and littered with a thousand stars, the air was almost warm and the pie smelt sweet beneath her nose. With her gaze cast upwards to the skies it was not until she was scarcely ten meters away that she noticed the looming dark figure that stood, a silhouette by her door frame.

In her chest her heart began a faster beat and her dark eyes squinted in an attempt to make out details of the form. Strangers were not something she was particularly well equipped in dealing with. Whats more, this particular being stood at perhaps double her size and was cloaked in layer after layer of fabric with a wide brimmed, floppy hat sat upon his head. For a moment she considered turning back to Mal's but knew that it was exceedingly unlikely that the older woman would even let her in and remembered that she, Daisy, was a Hobbit and if there was one thing Hobbits were normally known for it was their hospitality (with the exception of Mal, of course.)

And so she sucked in a breath and continued with steady steps towards her door. "Good evening." She called when she was close enough to make out the blue of his hat and yet still far enough that her caution was evident.

He turned to her, revealing a grey beard that was so long he had it tucked, perhaps unintentionally, into the thick belt that hung around his middle. "Good evening Daisy Hornfellow." He responded, eyes shining in the dark. Daisy could make out a small strange smile on his lips as he continued, "And I should say Happy Birthday also I suppose."

"Thank you." She said without any cheer. She took a few steps up towards him. "Can I help you at all?" The man was unrecognisable and yet had spoken her name as though they were old friends chatting over tea.

"We've met before, I'm certain." Daisy was not at all certain of this. "But no matter, I shall simply reintroduce myself. I am Gandalf the Grey, I have hailed from the west and am tired and hungry." His glistening eyes landed on the pie in her arms.

"I am Daisy Hornfellow... but it seems you already know this." She blinked, her manners overwhelming her desire to run. "It is late in the evening but I have been gifted this whole pie and would gladly serve you a slice if I thought you might fit down my little hallways." She had hoped this diplomatic way of suggesting the odd old man leave would work but he did not even shift.

"The evening is quite warm and it is not so late. I have not seen you since you were quite small and so perhaps we could sit and eat out here." He said, not at all unsettled by her words.

She blinked again, surprised. "Well... yes, I suppose it is a fine evening." The closer she got to him the less uncomfortable she felt around the old man. He looks strangely harmless and yet his eyes seemed to glow dangerously in the starlight. She moved past him, "I will just fetch us some plates and spoons then. Oh, and cream, I have some cream should you want it... Good, then I'll be back out in just a moment."

She hurried to fulfil her promise and returned to find him seated comfortably on her top step, puffing happily on some sweet smelling pipeweed. She handed him his pie with a small uncertain smile and then lowered herself to perch next to him.

He hummed happily as he ate and his cheer relaxed Daisy who soon began to munch happily too, forgetting to be cautious. The large man practically radiated warmth and when he next spoke it was in a low cheerful tone. "I have visited you once before and I imagine we might have met since but I've not been to The Shire too often and only usually during parties."

"Hm, I do not remember that occasion and I am not really one for parties..." She blushed, embarrassed to admit such things.

He simply smiled, "Well, you were very young I suppose. Yes, even littler than you are now." He chuckled, "You're mother was kind and offered me a place to stay one night when I had travelled a great distance and I'll admit, was a little worse for wear. Yes, you were indeed barely a child."

She smiled sadly up at him, "I'm afraid my mother passed quite a time ago. She was quite old and was peaceful at the time. I am sorry she is not here to meet you."

There was a pause in his smoke blowing and his hands had stilled for a long moment before he spoke. "I am dearly sorry to hear that Daisy." The light in his eyes was somewhat diminished, "And sorry I had not returned to thank her sooner. I apologise that I could not have been at least an acquaintance, perhaps a friend to you in those long years."

His kindness touched her and she smiled up at him, "It has not been so bad. I am happy to meet you now." It was true, her mothers passing had been as gentle as any could have been and the following years had only been a little lonely. It was true again that she was beginning to quite enjoy the old man's company.

"I am pleased to see you grown, though it seems to have been only a little." Gandalf teased before placing the remaining pie in his mouth."Though you live quite far out from the centre of town and when I asked after Fintooks..." He trailed off as though he could not find a delicate way to ask any of his questions.

"I'm afraid I am followed by a few whispers, as was my mother. I find comfort in some solidarity though - I am not the zealous sort at all really. I live simply and what I have suits me well enough." She said with some certainty.

Gandalf frowned down at her, "Are you sure? Is is simply that you have not been given the opportunity to be outgoing in your life? Might it be that?"

Daisy was affronted for a few seconds and frowned up at the old man, "I am happy enough." She huffed but couldn't find what else to say.

"Of course. Yes, apologies child. I didn't mean to offend you." He hummed down at her, a comforting smile in place on his lips. "Nethertheless, I shall be attending a dinner with some friends in a short while and I would like to extend the invite to you."

She was unsure, having not been invited to a great deal of social occasions in her lifetime. She looked up at her tall companion and was met by an encouraging smile. Before Daisy could question herself any further she found her lips moving, "Thank you, Gandalf."

He nodded and turned back to calmly blowing smoke rings in the air. They sat there some time into the night until they finished the pie and Daisy's eyes began to slide shut as she fought off sleep. Only then did Gandalf arise, pat her head and say quietly, "I will see you five days from now at Bag End for that dinner. Sleep well, child."

And then he had disappeared, still humming quietly to himself, into the night.

* * *

For the next few days Daisy found herself distracted with quiet scrutiny of her Birthday. She had left her home one morning without removing her night cap and twice she had forgotten to tie her dark hair in it's usual plait and once as a result, accidentally singed it while helping Mal. She thought on her first encounter with non-hobbit kind and decided that really, her forty ninth had been her best and most interesting birthday in a great many years.

Five days passed quickly and on the fifth Daisy found herself quiet nervously considering Gandalf's invite. Though she had never considered herself to be a temperamental sort of hobbit, Daisy had talked herself in and out of attendance a few times as the event neared.

Bag End was after all, a known well-to-do kind of a place. Daisy had glimpsed their over flowing gardens and bright painted doors from a distance only and found that the idea of actually wandering into such a place a little disconcerting. Would Gandalf's friend be other hobbits? Would they be man folk? She wasn't sure which idea unsettled her more. She had filled her time, in the end, with pacing and busying her hands in her small garden and labeling tiny ointment bottles in her kitchen.

It was beginning to darken and drizzle with rain when she finally stood unhappily in front of her closet. She had few dresses and certainly none that would be up to the caliber of Bag End and even so she wondered what one was even expected to wear to dinner with strangers. She owned only practical clothing, a fact that had never frustrated her until this moment and hoped no one else would be dressed too nicely. In the end she settled on a plain faded forest green dress with a full skirt and a loose white shirt underneath, an outfit she wore to market but not to garden in the dirt or to brew messy ointment. She plaited her hair over one shoulder, though it refused to co-operate fully and thick brown waves fell on either sides of her face and stuck haphazardly out from the braid.

It would have to do, she decided with a nod. She had never paid much mind to what others thought before and refused to begin to do so now. She pinched her cheeks in an attempt to force her face out of its pale, daunted expression.

She blew hair out of her face and glanced in the mirror only once more before she hunted her umbrella and disappeared, with a nervous twitch, out of her door.

* * *

By the time she had trudged up to Bag End, Daisy was damp, her toes were coated in a thick crust of mud and her hair was now in complete disarray. From one hole in particular she could here noise, jolly shouts and occasional singing, and she could smell foods of every kind. Now soggy and cold, many of her nerves had now been replaced with the desire just to get inside.

It took a bravery she hadn't expected (though she would never admit it) to strike the door three times, only her final knock surely being loud enough to be heard. She thought it would not be a great shame if no one had heard at all and then she could sneak off into the darkness even if it meant not ever seeing Gandalf again. It would be sad she supposed, but at least then she would have to walk into whatever festivity was occurring on the other side of the door.

Before she could even finish her thoughts the door had been swung open with a great deal of force and she was faced with a man. A man perhaps seven inches taller then her and triple her width and with more hair on his face than she had ever even had on her own head. Her mouth dropped open in shock as she stared at him. There were tiny dull beads intertwined his hair and beard and his clothes looked thick and were the colour of the earth. Was that an _axe_ strapped to his back?

"Now missy, who might you be?" His lilt was accented with something friendly and rough and he too seemed surprised to see her there though his surprise did not seem to manifest itself in the same dumb struck impression she was certain consumed her own features.

"Daisy!" Gandalf's deep voice called from behind the odd stout man. Relief filled her and she looked up into his familiar face with a small smile. In the light of the hobbit hole she could see that, just as she suspected, his face was lined with a thousand wrinkles and set off with two bright intelligent eyes shadowed beneath thick untamed eyebrows. His mouth was pulled into that knowing smile that had graced his face upon their last meeting as he spoke to her: "Welcome! I am rather glad you decided to come. I'll admit I thought you might have second thoughts..." He led her into the warmth of the large hobbit hole with one large hand on her tiny shoulder. "Sit, there is food and drink. I'm sure Bilbo could find you a towel too..." He noted the droplets in her hair and on her dress. "Bilbo? Where have you gone to?"

Again she was awestruck. The kitchen in which she now perched was wide and lit with numerous candles. There was a perfectly round window that looked out onto his dark and peaceful garden. Food consumed every surface alongside with mugs of mead and abandoned cloaks and swords. And most noticeably, the room was filled with hairy, loud dwarves. "Gandalf?" She spoke at last, "Your friends are... dwarves?"

"Of course. Child, don't look so worried. Dwarves are really an accommodating, loyal, jolly sort of people," He merely grinned in the face of her slack jawed expression, "Perfect for secret meetings in the dead of night."

She blinked. His eyes sparkled.

"Perfect for adventures."

* * *

**So that's it. I hope it's okay.**

**It sounds just enough like the original tale that I'm not too disappointed but I hope people made it this far and could deal with the dragging.**

*** If you've read the books you'll know that rich and poor Hobbits are the ones who live in hobbit holes and I think rich live in houses? I think. This being said it's unlikely ill end up sticking to the rules of the books and films entirely.**

**MORE WILL HAPPEN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, I PROMISE YOU.**

**See you soon (hopefully.)**

**Dreamer**


End file.
